The Victor's Daughter: Or How Monica Davenport Almost Became a Tribute
by stareyed in LA
Summary: "My name is Monica Davenport, and I will be the Victor of the 61st Hunger Games." It's a mantra she has been telling herself her whole life. And when that day comes, Monica is sure she will volunteer and be the hero of District 4. What she doesn't realize is that another girl, a fisherman's daughter from the Breck, has the same goal in mind. Rated T for language.


I've been waiting for my final Reaping Day my whole life. Not because this will be the last Reaping I will be eligible for, but because this is the day I am going to volunteer for the Hunger Games. Some think I'm crazy. That volunteering for the Hunger Games is like a death wish. And it is, if you live in District 12.

But I'm not from District 12, am I? Or those other, poorer District. Oh gosh no. I'm from District 4. It isn't as wealthy as District 1 or as powerful as District 2, but we are able to send in Career tributes every year and our Victors are some of the most popular celebrities in all of Panem.

My name is Monica Davenport, the daughter of Phineas Davenport, Victor of the 41st Hunger Games, and I am going to be a Victor in the 61st Hunger Games.

Reaping Day doesn't begin like any other morning. Unlike any other morning, where I have to get up at six to begin my training, Marina, our housekeeper, allows me to sleep in.

"You need your beauty sleep," she keeps telling me. But we all know I don't need it. But it's nice to have a little treat like that once in a while.

At nine o'clock, Marina comes in and wakes me up. After a quick shower, I come back to my room to find Marina setting out the dress I had picked to wear for the Reaping. I'm going on national television, so I have to look my best, am I right? And besides, this dress I picked was custom-made just for me by Daddy's favourite stylist, Drusilla.

The dress is a gauzy, off-the-shoulder gown with a short skirt that shows off my long, tan legs. A chain of frilly roses makes up the strap and snakes down to the bodice, lining the top. Like I was wearing a flower necklace. To top it all off, the whole confection is a hot coral pink. My favourite colour. Drusilla says the dress is supposed to make me look both innocent with the pink and the roses but sassy with the slow cut-top and the short skirt. Daddy says the Capital loves a sexy tribute. It's no wonder why. Everyone wants to support the hottie. Look at Ariel from last year. The Capital loved her and when she died, we heard about all these stories coming out of there about men (and some women) killing themselves so they could be with Ariel in death.

I find it ridiculous that someone would stoop to that level, but this is the Capital we're talking about. If Daddy's stories about the place are anything to go by, the people aren't right in the head. Marina says they're a few fish short of a catch. Or some other charming saying from the Breck, that section of District 4 that houses all the fishermen and their families.

As soon as I get dressed, Marina sits me down at my vanity and starts fixing up my hair. I wish Mother would be the one to do this job. I've always liked the idea of us bonding but with my training, we don't get that very often. And even if I have a free day, Mother is more interested in hanging out with her friends, the wives of the other victors, than she is in spending time with me.

Marina is probably the closest I will ever have to a mother, I think as she is curling my blonde hair with a fancy new-curling iron Daddy brought back from his last trip to the Capital. She's been working for my family since before I was born and practically raised me.

"All done," Marina says, setting down the curling iron. I look into the mirror and see a more gorgeous version of myself. She has a bronze tan, ocean blue eyes and white blonde hair that Marina has styled into these big waves that tumble-down my back.

"Beautiful," I exclaim. I wrap my arms around Marina's skinny shoulders and squeeze her in a hug. "I'm going to have sponsors lined up within minutes!"

Marina just gives a small smile. But there's also a hint of worry in her eyes. Like she keeps thinking something bad will happen to me in the Arena. Personally, I don't think there's anything for her to panic about. Sure, District 4 didn't have a Victor last year. But I'm not Ariel. I am one of the top students at the training academy and I am going to make sure I don't get tangled up in some revenge plot against one of the other tributes like she did.

I liked Ariel. I really did. She was a sweet girl. But she was a dumbass for wanting to get back at that Kenmeina. Didn't she realize that if she just stayed away from those two from 1 and live she could get her revenge? She gets to come home alive and that 1 girl would go back home in a body bag and a guilty sister who started it all.

Besides, it's not like I live in the Breck or in Cannery Row. Whenever we get a tribute from there, they never last in the Games.

After slipping on a pair of white heels, I head downstairs. As soon as I enter the foyer, I spy our chauffeur, Cruz, loading up the car with luggage.  
"Of course," I say. Daddy is mentoring this year. Wouldn't that be exciting? This is one of the best parts of being a Career with a Victor relative. You get to have a familiar face with you in the Capital, unlike most tributes, who are pretty much on their own.

"Thank Poseidon I don't live in those other Districts," I say as I walk into the dining room.

Daddy is sitting alone at the long, polished mahogany table and eating his breakfast. He's already dressed in a fine, linen suit with a silk cravat that brings out the blue in his eyes.

"Where's Mother," I ask as I take a seat next to him. I begin scooping servings of mixed fruit and yogurt on my plate.

"She's visiting Mrs. Moriarty," Dad says, "but she will be there at the Reaping. She said she wouldn't miss it for the world."

Of course she wouldn't, I think. My mother may have preferred being with her friends than spending time with me, but I can trust that she would be there at the Reaping. She would never miss the moment her daughter began her journey into making Hunger Games history. She just wouldn't. What kind of mother would she be if she wasn't there?

"Today's the day though," Dad continues, his voice trembling on the last word. He isn't nervous, is he, I ask myself. He can't be. This is Phineas Davenport, the man who fearlessly speared a Mutt in the eye when he was so close to death, ensuring his place as a Victor. He's seen me at my training. He knows what I can do and we've talked for hours on end about Arena strategies. He knows I could never mess up in the Arena. So why is he nervous?

Is he afraid I am going to end up like Ariel and Eric Finn?

No, don't be stupid, I think. I'm not one of the Finn's. I'm Monica freaking Davenport, future Victor for District 4.

"Sure is, Dad," I say before nibbling on my breakfast.

"You're not nervous, are you," he asks as he finishes his meal.  
"No," I reply. "Why would you ask that? I've been waiting for this day since I was nine."

"It's not that," he says, "I know you would never back out of volunteering. It's just natural to feel nervous before the Reaping. I felt that way when I was your age."

"I'm sure you felt nervous," I reply. Daddy pushes his plate away and gets up from the table. Before he leaves, he stops and plants a kiss on my forehead.  
"I'll see you at the Reaping," he says, before leaving me alone in the vast dining room. It would have been nice for Daddy to stick around for a little longer. But as this years Mentor, he has to arrive at the town square early. On the other hand, we have plenty of time to talk when we're on the train later today.

I finish my breakfast and leave it out for Marina to deal with. I've got more important things to do than clean the dishes.

The Victor's Village is buzzing with excitement today. They don't have to worry about their kids being Reaped today. They all know I'm going to be the one who will go to the Capital, kill a bunch of people, and win.

The Victors and their families emerge from their mansions, dressed in their finest clothing: men in suits, women in beautiful dresses, and kids made up to look like little versions of their parents. Just across the street, I spy Mrs. Finn, Ariel and Eric's mother, escorting her elderly mother, Mags, down the steps of their house. Out of all the happy, excited people hanging around here today, only the Finn women look glum. Shouldn't be surprised. Their children and grandchildren are dead. And then Mags had that stroke that nearly killed her. Her speech and walk are slower, more slurred than ever. Daddy says, because of her condition, she's no longer going to mentor.

A real shame, now that you think of it. Mags is one of the best Mentors District 4 has to offer. She's mentored the some of our greatest Victors, the most famous of them all being Finnick Odair.

Her replacement, Ummi Higgs, is standing by her car and planting a kiss on her husband and the baby boy in his arms before getting inside. Ummi is wearing a blue dress that is really tight around her stomach, which is still pretty big even though she gave birth nearly six months ago and still hasn't lost the baby weight. The dress makes her look like a fat, stuffed sausage. I don't get Ummi at all. She's in her thirties and is kind of strange. She has a habit of staring off into space and cursing in gibberish at times. She also has memory problems. Like she won't recognize faces and often calls our neighbors by the wrong name. Hell, there was this time where she was standing alone in the market for an hour because she couldn't remember why she was there. Another time, she got lost trying to find the Victors Village from the marketplace and ended up twelve miles inland. And there was the panic attacks she kept having when she was pregnant with her son. I mean, how can you forget that you're freaking pregnant? Her husband says it's the electrocution she suffered during her Games. The electricity addled her brain and that's why she is so strange.

But thankfully, she's not going to be my mentor. Ummi Higgs is my partner's problem. Another benefit of having a Victor relative, I think as I walk down the street to the house of my BFF, Barbara Norrington. You get a competent Mentor, not some loony who always calls Finnick "Freddy" and screaming nonsense over and over again when ever our tributes die.

Barbara Norrington does not live in the Victor's Village. But her parents are rich enough that their house is close to the town square. I know her dad is the Mayor's aide. He's always at the Mayor's right hand side when he makes a public appearance.

As I pass through the square, I can see some technicians still setting up cameras and sound equipment while a couple others are on the stage, unfolding chairs and setting out the glass bowls with the tributes names in them. I can't see Daddy or Ummi or Mayor Pescado though. But there are several families hanging around, waiting for this all to be over.

I bound up the steps to Barbara's house and knock on the door. It opens, revealing Barbara. She has on a fancy, ruffled green dress with her dark brown hair done up in a braided up do. I don't know why she is wearing such a nice dress. It's not like she's going to the Capital.

"Hey, Monica," Barbara says as she lets me inside. "You ready for the Reaping?"

"Obviously," I reply. Why even ask that question? She knows I've trained my whole life for these Games. And she knows for over a year that I will be volunteering this year.

We got up the stairs and enter Barbara's bedroom. Though it's smaller and not as nicely decorated as my room, she has a balcony that offers a great view of the town square and the ocean in the distance. Back when we were kids, before I turned twelve and started the full-time training at the Academy, we would have picnics and camp outs on that balcony and watch the sun set over the sea. Barbara leans against the rail, staring down at the stage as the escort, Madelyna, is testing the microphone. It's so loud we can hear her talk from where we are.

"If you're going to ask if I'm nervous, I'm not," I say, taking my place beside her.

"I wasn't going to ask that," Barbara says softly, her green eyes still staring down at our garishly dressed escort as she's squawking into the microphone as if she is one of Mr. Higg's parrots. I leaned close to her. Whenever Barbara gets nervous or worried, she always scrunches up her nose, like she's smelling something awful that somehow got on her shoe. "I... I just don't want you to die," she whispers.

"C'mon Barb, you're best friends with one of the Academy's best students," I proclaim. "There's no way I can lose."

"Everyone thought Ariel was going to win," Barbara says, "but look what happened to her."

"She was an idiot for wanting to get back at that District 1 girl," I say. Why does this always keep coming up? I'm not nervous. I'm not scared. And I am not going to die. I'm winning the Hunger Games if it's the last thing I ever do. "I won't make the same mistakes she did."

"You also said you're one of the best, not the best," Barbara continues. I can't help but grit my teeth in frustration. Leave it to Barbara the book-worm who gets straight A pluses in her English classes to correct someone on their speech. "That says you're not the very best."

"I am so," I insist. But as much as I hate to admit it, Barbara might be right. I'm not the very best student in the Academy. That honor goes to a seventeen-year-old who is going to volunteer next year. But I am in the top five, with three boys and a girl who I hate so much I won't let anyone say her name in front of me. And Barbara knows it too, judging by the way she is staring at me. Like she is reading my mind. Barbara has a weird way of sensing emotions. It's pretty creepy since what she feels can be spot on. If she wasn't rich or pretty or had a daddy who works for the mayor, I wouldn't be friends with her just so I can avoid that stare. It makes me feel uneasy.

"Look, everyone is filing into the square," I said, pointing down. Parents are lining the edges of the square while their children sign in with the Peacekeeper's and stand into their designated places based on age. Twelve-year-olds to the front of the stage. Eighteen-year-olds to the very back. And everyone else in between. I can even see Daddy walking onto the stage with Mayor Pescado, Ummi, and Madelyna and taking a seat.

Within minutes, Barbara and I are bounding out the door, arms linked as we stroll into the square. As we walk by, several people turn and whisper into each others ears as they see me take my place in one of the check-in lines. There have been rumors in District 4 over the last month that I'm going to be volunteering, along with some others. The only people who know are my instructors at the Academy, my fellow classmates, and my parents. After all, I'm the obvious choice for the girls in my class. I'm gorgeous. I have the pedigree of a Victor. I have done more than well in training. Why wouldn't I be?

I slip into one of the shorter lines, but as I do, a flash of green catches my eye. I turn my head around to find her standing in the next line.

I can't even say her name without wanting to scream or kick something. But I recognize her as my rival. Sedna Okpik, the trainee from the Breck. The scholarship student.

"Look at her, she can't even afford a nice dress for the Reaping," I sneer to Barbara, nudging her in the ribs with my elbow and pointing to Sedna. She's got on a dingy singlet and a skirt that's so long it's a miracle she hasn't tripped. And her hair is in those braids she wears at the Academy. Does she every wear her hair in a different style? And what's that tacky ornament around her neck? What is it supposed to be? A dolphin? A whale?

It's lucky that Sedna won't be volunteering. She's going to embarrass all of District 4 if she goes on stage looking like that.

A Peacekeeper checks me in and I take my place with the other eighteen-year-old girls. I make sure to get a spot right next to Sedna Okpik so that I can see the look of disgust on her face when I volunteer.

After several minutes, Madelyna steps forward to the microphone and chirps in that high-pitched voice of hers, "Happy Hunger Games!'

Then the video begins. But I'm not paying attention to it. Instead, all I can envision is how I am going to volunteer.

It will be perfect. Madelyna will scoop out a name from the girls' bowl and read it aloud. And it will probably belong to a poor little twelve-year-old from Cannery Row, probably dressed in a hand-me-down smock with her hair done in two blonde pigtails, who will break into hysterical tears as everyone looks on in pity. But before a Peacekeeper can escort her to the stage, I shall raise my hand high into the air and heroically call out, "I volunteer!" I can just see myself walking to the stage with my head held up high while everyone murmurs how brave I am to sacrifice my life so that poor little girl will continue living. And when Madelyna asks for my name, I will proclaim, "My name is Monica Davenport, and I will be this year's Victor!"

Oh, Daddy will be so proud of me.

I snap out of that daydream as soon as Madelyna announces, "Ladies first!"

This is it, I think, preparing myself to shout out those two words once the girl's name is announced.

"Erica Lee!"

A hush falls over the crows and everyone is careening their necks to see who this unfortunate girl is.

"Are you freaking kidding me," a seventeen-year-old girl in front of me screams. That is not my crying twelve-year-old. Everyone turns their heads towards the angry girl. She's short, with glasses and black hair cut as short as that District 5 girl's from the last Hunger Games. There is no way I can be seen as a savior if I'm volunteering for this little spitfire. I won't be seen as heroic if I am volunteering for a girl who looks like she can just take out everyone in the Arena in a fit of rage.

Sedna's eyes widen, as if she recognizes this girl.

Before I can even do anything, Sedna is shouting "I volunteer! I volunteer!" over Erica's cursing.

You bitch, I mouth as Sedna takes one last look at me. I swear, I can see a smile forming on that slash on her face she calls a mouth. I am still giving Sedna the evil eye as she takes my rightful place on the stage. I am praying she meets some horrible end in the Arena as she announces her name into the microphone and takes a seat near my father. A seat I should be sitting in right now. I am cursing her entire family for even allowing her to train at the Academy as Madelyna moves on to selecting the boy tribute.

Before Madelyna can even finish reading the name, Frank Pescado, the mayor's son and the third top student at the Training Academy, volunteers. Everyone knows he is going to volunteer. He keeps going on about how he wants to give a better life for his family even though his father is one of the richest men in District 4.

I am hoping that Frank, despite being a gentleman, will snap and kill Sedna, as they shake hands and are escorted of the stage.

As the Reaping ends, all the kids are rushing to their parents' arms, relieved that they won't meet some nasty end in the Arena. But I'm not. I'm marching towards the Justice Building, ignoring everyone and everything around me. I'm going to give Sedna Okpik a piece of my mind before she dies.

After a security screening the Peacekeepers conduct at the entrance so they can make sure I won't bring anything that will kill their precious tribute, I am let inside, but not before I am faced with a line of people who want to wish Sedna all the best before she leaves. The line is short, thankfully. Just her parents, two siblings, a girl with bright red hair I vaguely know as being Sedna's best friend who spends all her free time surfing, and the girl she volunteered for.

One of the Peacekeeper's takes us through the marble-lined hallways of the Justice Building and conducts us in front of one of the doors.

"There is an hour allotted for all visitors," the Peackeeper begins, "the family will have half an hour with the tribute, and ten minutes each for the other visitors." Then he opens the door and allows Sedna's family to go inside before closing the door behind them.

The wait is long and agonizing and all I can think about during this time is how much I will enjoy seeing Sedna Okpik die in the Arena. That's what she gets for taking away what is rightfully mine. How dare some girl, who only got into the Training Academy because one of the scouts saw her beating up a boy, who grew up poor, be allowed to become a tribute over me. She should be spending the rest of her life out on some boat, hauling in fish and living in the Breck while I get to live in my own mansion and do as I please all day long.

After what feels like forever, the door finally opens. But there's something wrong with the Okpiks. Normally, whenever I see footage of the poor families whose kids have been Reaped, they're crying or showing some kind of distress. But not the Okpik's.

They leave with calm expressions on their faces. Mr. Okpik is whispering something into his wife's ear, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as their children, a teenage boy and his younger sister, follow behind him. Why would they look so happy and proud?

Then it hits me. The Okpiks knew Sedna would be volunteering. Why they never told anyone, I don't know. But what infuriates me is that they all knew Sedna would try and steal my glory.

When they leave, I ask, trying my best to sound as calm and sweetly as possible, "did either of you know that Sedna would be volunteering?"

The redhead shoots me an angry glare as the Peacekeeper escorts her into the room. Erica refuses to answer, instead moving closer to the Peacekeeper before sitting down and pulling a notebook and a pencil out of her skirt pocket. I can't hit this girl because the Peacekeeper's will try and subdue me and I won't get my confrontation with Sedna Okpik.

Instead, I just wait until the red-haired friend leaves. As soon as Erica is let inside and the door closes, I lean my head against the wood and try to hear whatever conversation those two are having inside.

"You didn't volunteer for me because we're neighbors, did you," Erica asks, her voice muffed by the wood.

"What? No," Sedna says.

"Then why? We suck compared to 1 and 2. Especially 1. They always kick our asses. Look what happened last year!"

"Erica, I've been training for the Hunger Games since I was eight years old. I'm not going to let ten years worth of training go to waste so that blonde bimbo Monica Davenport gets to go in my place."

I can feel my blood boiling as Sedna calls me a 'blonde bimbo'. Oh she is going to pay for that.

"She was pretty livid when you volunteered. I swear she was going to explode."

The girls laugh aloud.

"I wish you can see the recap. My dad knows a guy who owns a VCR. I'll see if he can convince him to tape the whole thing and we can watch it together when you get back. It'll be classic!"

I am now balling my hands into fists. How dare they laugh behind my back and make me into a mockery!

"Oh, that's not nice," Sedna says, "My mom always said it was rude to laugh at others misfortunes."

"This is Davenport we're talking about. She deserves whatever bad luck she gets. Remember those rumors she spread about Coral Andrews."

I remember Coral Andrews alright. She used to train at the Academy, the other scholarship student besides Sedna. But not after I started a rumor that she was a lesbian. It wasn't true, of course. I only made those rumors up because she kept beating me in knife throwing. She had to go. And so, within weeks of the rumor spreading through out District 4, she dropped out of training and ran away from home. This was two years ago. No one knows what happened to her since.

"I guess you're right. But still, your parents must be pissed that you swore on national television," Sedna says.

"Nah, to them, 'freaking' is not as bad as the other f-word. They totally understand that I would be pissed. Plus, we're from the Breck. We've heard worse words. Remember that one Reaping where the male tribute, when he realized no one was going to volunteer for him, said..."

My jaw drops when Erica utters the phrase that was so explicit, it had to be cut from broadcast and was heavily censored for the recaps. Though that Reaping was five years ago, I can still remember that tribute. He was a crude boy from the Breck and I thought he was an embarrassment to District 4. He belched out the national anthem during the Interviews for Poseidon's sake! How he made it to the Final Two was beyond me, and I wasn't sorry for him when he was decapitated by that girl from District 9.

"You be careful though. Win this for the Breck. And win this so when you get back, you get to see that bitch Davenport flip her shit and shove that victory it in her face for the rest of her life," Erica says.

"I will."

The door opens, and when Erica sees me standing by the door and realizes that I was eavesdropping on their conversation, she immediately takes off down the hallway, almost running into a Peacekeeper on her way out.

The Peacekeeper by the door escorts me inside and closes the door behind me. Sedna Okpik is sitting on a plush couch upholstered in blue satin embroidered with silver seashells.

"I know why you're here," Sedna says in a calm voice, as if she was expecting this to happen. "You're pissed because I took your moment of glory."

I just glare at Sedna. "How long did you know you we're going to volunteer?"

"A few years," Sedna says calmly and confidently. As if she had always known the answer.

"Why? I was supposed to be the tribute. Not you! You don't even deserve to be here. It should be me going to the Capital," I shout.

Sedna just stares me in the eye and takes a deep breath. Then, in a neutral tone, she just says, "what makes you think you deserve to represent District 4? Based on the way you live, you live more like a Capital girl than a District 4 one. Did you ever have to wake up at the crack of dawn and help out the family with fishing or canning before going to school? No, you were probably asleep. Ever faced starvation? Probably not. Ever had to squeeze in a hard days work? And I don't mean by training. Looking at you, I doubt it. Sure you trained, but you were never as good as some of our classmates, and most of them dropped out over the years under "mysterious" circumstances. But I should know better. You spread a vicious rumor about one of my best friends so she could get kicked out of the Academy. All because she was a better knife thrower than you ever will be. And even if the people you bully stick around in the Academy, you and your cronies continue to treat them like dirt. You think you're better than everyone else because you're beautiful and wealthy and have connections in the Capital, but you're not. You're a whiny, spoiled brat and the only reason why people put up with you is because your dad is a celebrity. Everyone, our trainers, our classmates at the Academy, they don't realize it now. But one day, they're going to realize that you were never nothing more than an entitled little bitch who only got into training because her dad is a Victor. You keep on riding on the fame and riches his name has made, but where will you be when he dies and you get kicked out of the Victors Village? What are you going to do then? And who can you turn to? My mom always said if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it. But in this case, I have to say this. You're a horrible person, Monica Davenport, and horrible people never win the Games."

I stand in silence for several minutes before turning around and marching out the door. "I don't need to put up with this," I say, slamming the door behind me. Sedna Okpik is wrong. Everything she has said about me are lies. And she is going to pay for it. I'll be damned if she ends up winning the Hunger Games. She says that horrible people never win the Hunger Games. Well, neither do fishermens' daughters from the Breck.

* * *

A/N: The idea for this fanfic came when I submitted a character profile to SparrowCries "Shattered Memories" story. I always liked the idea of there being a snotty, jerk of a trainee-tribute who is cheated out of her chance of entering the Games by a tribute who grew up in a poor family. And after the District 4 Reapings were published for "Shattered Memories", I began working on a prequel leading up to and following the events, as told by that snotty almost-tribute.

If it feels over the top, it was supposed to be like that. I got the inspiration from several fanfics involving Mary Sues, which was a partial basis for Monica Davenport, as well as some guides people have published on how NOT to write a Hunger Games fanfic.

All rights to certain events and characters belong to the authors who created them. Everything else is of my invention.


End file.
